


Plain White Room

by GracefullyEmmaginative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Deals with cancer, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, No romantic relationship, Reader Insert, Reader Is 16, we do not ship grown married men with children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefullyEmmaginative/pseuds/GracefullyEmmaginative
Summary: "You don't understand—" Barely above a whisper, her voice barely breaking the silence, easily ripping into the hearts of the men who loved her as though they were nothing but paper— "You don't know what it feels like to sit for hours on end and be pumped so full of poisons you can barely think straight. You don't know what it feels like to have everyone look at you like there's something wrong— like, like your just this broken little thing that needs their pity. You don't know what it feels like to suffocate in that plain white room— to sit by and watch the people you love swimming around you while all you can do is drown."
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Misha Collins, Jared Padalecki/Sam Winchester, Jensen Ackles/Dean Winchester, Reader - Relationship, x - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Plain White Room

Do you ever have those moments when everything seems to just freeze in place?

Where something happens and it's so enormously, astoundingly surprising that even time itself skids to a halt and can do nothing but stare?

The striking white of the room left her distorted to begin with; blind to what was about to level her whole world. If she had just had her eyes open, if she could have just seen the doctor coming, then she could have prepared her already arithmetic heart for the shot it was soon to take. The frown could have been a clue, but the trepidation that clouded over her mother and father would have gave it away. 

Hearing the doctor say it; watching those two simple syllables slide past her parted lips made them become so much more than a word. She must have said it a million times before, and the only way to save her wrenching heart was to detach herself from the situation, and uphold her professionalism. 

"Ms. (L/N)— you have cancer."

Everything froze. She could not only hear the rushed gasp of air being forced from her parents, but she could feel it. It knocked her back into her chair; rocking it onto its hind legs, leaving it teetering on the edge of being stable, and letting gravity take its course. 

And when time finally snapped from its trance, and the world continued to spin, everything had changed. 

One thought weaved it's way out of the confused maze that was her mind, one that left her legs numb, and her arms shaking. 

‘How am I going to tell Jared, Jensen and Misha? How am I going to break it to the cast and crew that has become my family?’

And try as she might, nothing would ever be the same. 

—

Her parents coddled her for hours, wiping the hair that had fallen into her eyes out of the way, and leaving kisses that stayed pressed into her forehead until they felt the need to replace it with a fresh one. 

They left her in that blank canvas of a room to talk with the doctor about treatment, and that's when she remembered what time it was, and where she was supposed to be. 

Her phone was left to silently receive call after call, and an abundance of texts, on her bedside table. She let her hand slide over the screen, and as soon as her finger made contact with the cold, it lit up with the incoming call she dreaded taking. 

"Hel—hello?" She could barely force the simple greeting past her lips, and she had to cough back the tears that were fighting at the backs of her eyes. 

"Where are you, kid? We have been trying to reach you all morning." There was nothing different about Jensen's voice, it was the same as it had always been, and her mind might have been playing tricks on her, but the tone she heard was enough to make her squeeze into a ball. Her forehead rested soundly on her legs, and she welcomed the darkness and cover that they brought. 

"Are Jared and Misha with you?"

"Yeah, but then again, when are they not?" She could almost feel the amused breath of air that his voice released, and it left her with a thin sheet of comfort. "So where are you, sweetheart?" 

"I will explain everything when I see you guys in person, and I understand if you can't get here tonight." 

"What are you talking about (Y/N)? Are you at home?" They all cared for her so much, and to hear the caution, and seriousness come from the joyful and easily amused girl that they had so quickly come to love left them uneasy.

"Do you remember that doctor's appointment that I had to go to last week?" 

"Yeah, you had to leave early from set that day. Really sweetheart, what's going on?" She could hear shuffling on their end and she assumed she'd been put on speaker. 

"I had a few tests done, and they f-found something." Her throat was tightening up, and her breathing became quickened. 

Her boys went silent, and all she could do was wait for the worry to seep through her phone, and wash over her. She could just see them share that silent glance, and have a whole conversation with their eyes without even having to utter a word. 

"Are you at the hospital?" 

"I'd much rather be there at set with you guys." She didn't want to break the news to them over the phone, but she also didn't want them to come rushing to her. She didn't have any idea what to say, or what to do, a completely new phenomenon when it came to the relationship that they'd all formed. They'd been inseparable since the very beginning, and when Misha came in, it was like they had found the missing piece to the puzzle they didn't even know was incomplete. 

"Are you at the hospital, (Y/N)?" Jared asked more forcibly, letting his fear get the best of him. Against her will, she allowed his tone to make her flinch. "Just tell us if you are, and we can be there in minutes." 

An image of him flashed through her head; his hand twitching restlessly, unconsciously reaching for his keys, but stopping halfway through the act. She could see Jensen pacing the floor of his trailer, running his hands through his hair, and eyeing his phone that rested on the coffee table. 

"(Y/N)." Misha spoke up then. His voice was strict and straight to the point, and for the first time, he spoke to her without a hint of levity. "If you are really at the hospital, which I think that you are, then there is nothing you can do to stop us from coming there, okay? Nothing. We will figure out whatever it is going on together, like we always do. You don't have to respond, but I know you are listening, so we will be there in thirty minutes." 

She couldn't help it, the tears came, and her breathing picked up so much that it sent her heart monitor into a frenzy. The frantic beeping was so loud that her boys on the other end could hear it. 

"We will be there as soon as we can." 

—

She ran multiple scenarios through her head on ways she would break the news to them, but all came up lacking. They were always missing something. 

They were either too serious, or not serious enough. 

Too abrupt, or too thought out. 

Why was it so hard to say those three simple words? She mulled over the question, rolling it around in her head, saying it out loud, and she soon found that she didn't like the way the words tasted when they rolled off her tongue. 

It was that sour aftertaste that those three words left that gave her her answer. It was because, separately, those words were just words. Even cancer was just a word that people used, but put 'I have', or 'they have' , or 'she has' in front of it, and that newly formed phrase could level a person's whole world, not just the person themself. That word had become personal, which made it so hard to simply say. It wasn't just her that was affected. Everyone that she loved was now affected— by cancer. 

That's why the disease was so grueling; so terrible. 

Because it couldn't just affect one person. No, never just one person. 

It had to affect everyone. 

—

Thirty minutes later, just as they said, they came bursting through the door in a jumble of nerves and fearful anticipation. 

"(Y/N) sweetheart, what is going on? We ran into your parents in the hall and they wouldn't tell us anything." Misha put a hand on Jensen's shoulder to stop him from saying anymore. He looked over her hunched form, for she had yet to lift her head from her legs, and the heaviness in them screamed that he already knew. If only she was looking at him. Misha waited for Jared to step into the room, and shut the door, before saying exactly what his eyes betrayed; saying the exact thing she was more than terrified to hear. 

"You have cancer." The shock wouldn't have been so bad if she was only looking at him, but she couldn't find the strength to face the plain white room that waited her. 

And she definitely didn't have it in her to face the three men standing within it. 

Both boys would later describe a ringing that settled into their ears, and the way their center of gravity dissipated like steam in the air, leaving them leaning against the walls for support. 

"You two were too busy looking at room numbers to realize what hallway we turned down." Misha dropped heavily into the chair that had housed her father hours before. She looked up from the comforting darkness that she allowed herself to be encased in for the first time, and all she could see was her angel's soft smile. 

Misha wanted so badly to do something that could help her, and before he knew it he had stepped forward out of his chair, his lips pursed in that telltale 'Cas' way, and he had pressed two fingers to her forehead, trying to bring fantasy to reality, and get his beautiful girl back. 

She looked so confused at first, and he almost let a small laugh escape him, but he didn't dare until he saw her reaction. 

He might not have been able to rid her of the overall problem, but he was able to heal her of the inability to do what he loved most about her. 

He did what he does best, and made her smile. 

And that smile steadily grew and turned into a loving grin. 

And that loving grin turned into a laugh so boisterous that Jared and Jensen finally tuned into the world around them, and smiled at what they saw. 

One laugh slowly turned into two, and nobody in their right minds could have held back the urge to join in. 

Misha had wrapped her up in the tightest hug he dared, and ravished in the joyous rumbling that her laugh left within him. Jensen and Jared forced their way into the happy bubble that encased the duo, soaking in as much of the levity in the air as they could. 

Her heart monitor quickly picked up pace from its normal steady rhythm, and a nurse soon burst through the barricades that they tried so desperately to defend. 

They were forced to separate from each other's hold, but the smile they all shared seemed permanently glued to their faces— for the time being. 

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare anybody." She told the woman. The young nurse smiled as she started to do the routine check that she had done thousands of times for past patients. 

"Never apologize for laughing, hun. I much prefer to come in here and see you laughing like you were instead of the alternative. I'm sorry for ruining it." 

"You didn't ruin anything—" She broke off to take a quick glance at the boys around her, and couldn't help but let out a little laugh— "are my parents done talking to the doctor about treatments?" 

The nurse nodded simply. "They have been done for awhile. They just wanted to let you guys have a bit of time together." The nurse looked around the room; the room that seemed to have gained a new air, and smiled. "I can let them know they can come in now, if you want?" 

"That would be great, thanks." 

—

They released her that night with seven different appointments for testing that would have to be completed the following week. The paper between her hands had a weight about it that left it hard to hold. She grazed over the black ink that stained the crisp white sheet, and had to grab the person next to her to keep from falling. That person just so happened to be Jared, wild concern in his gaze as she stumbled a bit and her hand gripped his sleeve. 

"Are you okay?" Jared wrapped his arm around her shoulder to steady her, but he quickly noticed that she hadn't looked up from the paper she was burning holes into— "Want me to take that?" 

He reached across their bodies to grasp the schedule that was causing her so much distress. He waited a minute for her to respond, and he had to give her a tiny shake to shock her out of the trance she was in. 

"What?" Her eyes finally dragged up towards his, and she couldn't erase the frown from her lips fast enough. Jared slowly led them over the the plastic chairs in the waiting room, sitting down before resting his hands on his knees. 

"What's got you so worked up, sweetheart?" He believed at first that she was just stressing over the whole situation, but he soon pinpointed the exact problem when she handed him the paper she was clutching. He could still see the impressions that her hands made, and he found himself slowly smoothing out the creases as he read over the contents, "This is your appointment list for next week, right?" 

"Yes," He watched as her eyes traveled back and forth between the paper and himself, and it was almost like she was screaming at him to receive the answer that was written across her face. 

"Look, I know there are a lot of appointments on here, but you can get through them. Jensen, Misha and I will come with you if you want." Jared offered, thinking that he found the solution to what was plaguing her.

"No, that's not the problem, Jared—" She ran her fingers through her hair, letting them get caught between the strands, and watching as they fell silently back into place— "The problem is that we have shooting all next week, and I'm not going to be able to make any of it." She pushed the excess amount of air through her nose before pulling her legs up to her chest. 

"They're going to have to delay next weeks show because I won't be able to shoot my scenes, and everyone is going to—" Jared abruptly stopped her from saying anymore by pulling her scrunched up body into his arms and leaning back in his seat. He gently pushed her head into his chest. 

"Now you're just talking nonsense, sweetheart. Don't for a second think that any one is going to be mad at you for missing set. The only job you have right now is to take care of yourself, and do whatever you need to in order to get better, okay?" 

"But I have a responsibility to the show." She said, not being able to knock her negative thoughts into the back of her mind.

Jared gave her a gentle squeeze and pressed a kiss to her head. "You also have a responsibility to yourself (Y/N), now more than ever."

Jared slowly released her body from his cradled arms when her mom came over with an invitation to dinner. All three men tried to refuse, not wanting to impose, but her mother wouldn't take no for an answer. 

"My mom is making steak tonight." She had told them, and that was all it took for them to say yes. They found themselves unable to say no to her, and they were glad they didn't. Everyone's families ended up coming over for dinner, and they had a huge backyard barbecue. 

Jensen, Jared and Misha manned the grill while their wives helped her mother in the kitchen, but everyone seemed distracted in their tasks. 

Their eyes always seemed to drift towards the open window, or in the direction that she happened to be in, and they would smile as she played with the kids, and laugh when she did even though when couldn't hear the joke, but every so often, a frown would suddenly appear across their lips when her back was turned. Every time her face disappeared from their views, and her smile left their sights, all they could think of was her frowning; all they could think of was her pain.

They all scolded themselves because all they could think of was a shadow while all she made was light. 

But everytime she would turn back around and smile at them, unconsciously trying to show them that she was okay. 

—

"Hi, I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and I'm here for a chemotherapy appointment at three." She said to the older receptionist, earning a polite smile. 

"Yes dear, they're ready for you in the back; is this your caregiver for the day?" Jensen walked around the desk to grab the sign in sheet that she was passing his way. He placed the bag he was holding on the floor at his feet before addressing her. 

"Yes ma'am." He quickly scribbled his signature into one of the empty spots before slinging the bag back over his shoulder. 

"I am perfectly capable of carrying my own bag." She attempted to take the bag from him, rolling her eyes when he shrugged her away. 

"I know you are, I just have a reputation to uphold. I am a gentleman after all—" Jensen laughed at his words as he followed her back towards the oncology word— "You know, it's not too late to call your parents and have them be here with you. I mean, this is your first session." 

She watched as he kept adjusting the strap on the bag on his shoulder, a clear sign that he was nervous. "They had to work today, but if you don't want to come in with me then—" 

"No, no—" Jensen stopped her in a rush, worried that she took his intent the wrong way— "I want to be here, I do, I just thought maybe you would rather have your parents here with you instead of me." He confessed, and she had never seen Jensen so unsure of himself. 

"I want you here with me Jensen, I really do."

He allowed a smile to cross his lips. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah, you big dork." She laughed and gently pushed him on the shoulder. They made it to the nurses station in the oncology ward, and they immediately bought her back to her own private room within the ward. 

"We thought this might be more comfortable for you, considering the circumstances." The room was closed off from everything else, with only a door and a window connecting it to the outside. She slowly walked over to the window, stepping into it's streaming light to take in the view that it gave. She could see the gardens that spread out in the back of the hospital, it's vibrant colors brightening up the otherwise dull situation. The only downside was the plain white walls that encased her. She spun slowly around on her heels, trying to find an angle with a slight difference in appearance, but there was none. She spun back towards the nurse and Jensen and they were both staring at her questionably. 

"Oh I'm sorry—" She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck— "Thank you very much." 

"You are more than welcome Ms. (Y/N). Your doctor will be in shortly to start the treatment; you can take a seat in the meantime. There is also a chair for Mr. Ackles." The nurse then left to go attend to other patients. 

She climbed into the hard hospital chair in the middle of the room, letting it recline back, and tried to relax before the doctor came in. Against her will, she felt her nerves begin to contract and tighten, and she felt the urge to curl herself into the smallest ball she could and hide away beneath her hoodie. 

She watched as Jensen pulled her bag out from underneath his chair and started to rummage through it. 

"Let's see what we got in here." Jensen pulled out the throw blanket and threw it at her, watching as it landed in her lap with a shallow plop. She drew her knees to her chest, squishing her face into the soft material, allowing it to replace the warmth that the cold, bare room extracted from her body. 

Jensen smiled before continuing to rummage through the bag, pulling out her laptop and charger, and her headphones. 

"Are you nervous?" He asked nonchalantly, not meeting her gaze as he pushed aside a package of gum and a few water bottles, continuing through the bag. 

"I'm mean— yeah I'm nervous—" She paused, feeling her heart beat just a little bit faster— "I'm honestly kinda terrified. But there's really nothing I can do about it." She sighed, resting her head back against the firm cushion of her chair, and closing her eyes. 

"I'm sorry." 

She opened one eye slowly, not really sure what she heard as it was muttered under his breath, but she opened both and sat up once she saw his clenched jaw, and clouded eyes. "Why are you sorry?" 

"I don't really know how to explain it, but I feel like I should apologize for something—" He picked up the bag once more and absentmindedly ran his hands through the contents, but soon became distracted by his own thoughts and his hands floated, void of meaning, in the air, and inside them he held all the things he didn't have the courage to say while trying to find a way to open his fingers—"I know you don't want to hear this, and you hate people giving you sympathy, but I just— I don't know what I'm trying to say. I wish— more than anything— that I could just take all this away and I—"

She was quick to stand up and cross the room to him, cutting him off as he continued to try and awkwardly explain himself by hugging him, pressing her lips to his cheek. "You don't have to say anything. I understand, Jensen. Thank you."

There was a shrill knock at the door, and the doctor came in with a smile gracing her lips. "Hi, I'm Dr. Wagner, and I will be overseeing your treatment for the next few months—" Jensen reached over and shook her hand, while his best friend just smiled at the woman before her— "We are going to start off by going over the lab results from this morning." 

She pulled her clipboard closer to her, and slid her reading glasses down her face. "Everything is in normal range, no changes in blood pressure, or sugar levels. Oxygen levels look good as well; I believe we are good to start—" Dr. Wagner pushed the clipboard away from her, replacing it with a thin thermometer— "I just have to check and make sure you don't have a fever, then we can began." The doctor placed the thermometer into her mouth before turning to her computer and plugging her lab results into her charts.

The loud beeping that the thermometer let off broke the silence of the room, and she found herself jumping in her chair. The doctor smiled, and removed the stick from her mouth. 

"Everything looks good, Ms. (Y/L/N)."

"Please, call me (Y/N)." She said instantly, holding out a hand. 

"Well, (Y/N), are you ready to start?" Her eyes drifted over the medical equipment beside her, stopping at the bag of chemicals and poison that would soon be sliding into her veins. Her eyes trailed up to the clear plastic tube that was hanging above her, and landed on the large needle at the end. She had never been one to be scared of needles before, but now it was like seeing them in a new light. They had gone from pinpricks to sword stabs, all in the course of that one word. 

"(Y/N)?" She looked away from the drugs that hung above her like an unwanted cloud on an otherwise sunny day, and towards Jensen, who was holding out his hand for her to hold. He could see the worry slowly etch itself into her like a second skin, and he offered the only thing he could think of to help. She quickly took him up on his offer, grasping his hand between hers and turning her head away from the bag of chemicals. 

She turned back to the doctor, stealing her resolve and giving a single nod of approval. She turned her head once more, and found herself staring right into Jensen's green eyes. He smiled, and slowly started to rub rhythmic circles onto the back of her hand. The doctor was holding her other hand, moments away from sticking the needle into her vein, and giving a clear passage for the chemicals to enter her body. 

"You know what we should do once you are well enough?" Jensen asked, and he couldn't help the smile that slowly formed over his tense features. 

She could feel the heart monitor being placed over her finger, and she knew what came next. 

"We should all go to the beach. It will be summer soon, and I really want to bring the twins to the beach, and let them see the water, and feel the sand." He made it sound like he wanted to do this trip for his kids, but she knew better. 

He wanted to do something for her. Give her back some sort of normalcy in her life, like going to the beach in the summer, and swimming in the ocean. It had only been a week in a half since she was diagnosed, and he could already tell that it had changed her. He could already see how much it had taken away. 

She hadn't been able to go to set for almost two weeks now, and he, Jared, and Misha found themselves running out of plausible excuses for her. 

She was going to have to go back and break the news to the rest of the cast and crew. Tell them that she didn't just take a surprise vacation to visit her grandmother and catch an illness that made her unable to fly home.

"That sounds like a great idea, Jay. I'm sure Arrow and Zep will love that. Odette has never seen the ocean either, so it will be really exciting for everyone." 

Jensen had done a good job distracting her, up until the doctor said she was ready to insert the needle. He felt her hand tighten, all her muscles contracting and tensing until she was completely rigid. Her breathing got quicker, and she was on the course to hyperventilating, so he did everything he could to calm her down. 

"It's okay, (Y/N). I'm right here, okay? Just keep looking at me—" He was quick to stand up and slip into the hospital bed beside her, ignoring the doctor's half-hearted attempt at protest as he let go of her hand and instead wrapped his arms around her stiff body— "Just take a deep breath and watch me breathe okay? In and out." 

He took a deep breath in and held it until she did the same, releasing it in a slow stream. He took the hand that hadn't been injected and placed it over his heart, letting her feel the slow and consistent beating that he was trying to keep for her sake.

"You're going to smell and taste something metallic, and I want you to know that it's just the medicine, okay?" The doctor said, but something about the way she spoke did nothing to reassure her nervousness. 

Jensen watched as she closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling, and by the time she opened them again, the doctor was already putting tape over the needle to keep it in place. 

"You did wonderfully, (Y/N)," The doctor praised her, and for a reason she could not discern, she wanted to punch the doctor's fake smile right off her cheeks, "I know how scary it can be to do it for the first time, but you will get better with every session. I just want to go over the symptoms of the chemo, and how it will affect you. I'm not going to lie to you, you are going to feel really bad over the next few weeks—" A bitchface crossed her features before she could stop it, the inner Winchester pulling through momentarily, and Jensen had to glance away to avoid laughing— "You'll be nauseated, fatigued, you might vomit, or have diarrhea, you might bruise and bleed easier, loss of appetite. It really depends on the patient."

She had done fine in the onslaught of so much new information until the doctor spoke again. "As you might know, you are also going to lose your hair— "Her breath hitched and her throat bobbed as she unconsciously clutched Jensen tighter, her knuckles white— "It will start anywhere between two to four weeks after this first appointment. It could go all at once, or in clumps as you sleep or bathe. Some patients like to have control on how they lose their hair, and choose to shave their heads on their own terms. That is something that is up to you."

She felt she may pass out, completely overwhelmed. She expected the doctor to stop after telling her about her hair, and she nearly found it in her to tell the poor woman to shut up as she continued. "Also, you will have a session every two weeks, and you will have six cycles. How you take to the chemo will decide whether you need another round, but I guess we will cross that bridge when we get there."

And all she could do was blink, trying to take in all the information she could and ultimately locking up. She subconsciously reached her hand up to run her fingers through her hair, oblivious to the stare that Jensen sent her. All she could concentrate on was the ever-increasing metallic taste in her mouth, and the negative thoughts that coursed through her mind. 

"Hey kiddo, you okay?" Jensen asked softly, giving the hand on his chest a soft squeeze. 

"Yeah— I am, it's just— it's a lot to take in." Her voice was airy as she made eye contact with the doctor for a brief second before looking down at her hand, resting in Jensen's. She refused to look at the needle that stuck into her skin, afraid that she would start to cry if she did. 

"I'm going to leave the two of you alone for a little bit, okay? There is a emergency button right here behind the chair that you can press, and someone will come if you need them to." The doctor pointed to the red button on the wall behind a chair before standing. 

"Thank you." Jensen shook the doctor's hand once more before turning his attention back to her. He smiled before pulling her closer and kissing her on the forehead, relishing in the warmth of her skin as it seeped into his lips. "You did so good, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you." 

"It's not over yet." Jensen quickly got up and retrieved the blanket that had been discarded on the ground before slipping back in beside her, placing it over their bodies and tucking it in before his arms locked her up once more. 

"Now we wait." 

"You don't have to stay the whole time, Jensen. You can go if you want. I'll be okay." She knew that he couldn't possibly want to stay; not truly. She felt guilty that he thought he needed to, and tried to encourage him to go home to his family, but he simply shook his head and held her closer, his lips pressing once more to her forehead. His hand left hers and began to quietly sift themselves through her hair, the soft strands running between and around and through them loosely. 

"Don't worry about me, babe. I'm not going anywhere." 

—

"I don't know if I can do this," She stood alone outside the set door, refusing to let Jensen nor Jared nor even Misha help her in any way. It had become personal, and her independence had become threatened, "maybe no one has to know."

She hadn't realized that her not-quite-biological family had squeezed their way through the set door she thought she was successfully barricading until after they were turning back to drag her along behind them. 

"Of course you can do this sweetheart, and we will be in there with you, so don't you dare feel alone. Just look at us and no one else if you have to, okay?" Jensen looked straight into her eyes, and his reassuring smile left no room for second thoughts. 

In that moment, with her two brothers and her angel by her side, she believed that she could get through what awaited her. 

But her confidence was quick to dissipate the moment Jared called the family together in a booming voice. 

She looked out into the mass of cast and crew that had formed around her, waiting for the news that she honestly didn't want to give. She wrung her hands together, and patted them against her jeans; she was letting the nerves that she tried so hard to bury get the best of her, something she promised herself that she wouldn't do. She looked one more time at Jensen, Jared and Misha; looked at their smiles of encouragement and understanding, and yet she couldn't staunch the underlying terror that steadily rose in her gut, and each of her boys could see it, plain as day. 

She stepped backward out of earshot of the gathered crowd, her voice low as she leaned closer to the trio of men. "I don't think I can do it. What if I do something stupid? What if I— I don't know— start to cry?"

"Then, that's okay," Jensen said, "(Y/N), you know better than any of us that it is okay to be vulnerable."

"But I don't want to be treated differently because of this. I don't want people to look at me and see anything other than the person they knew yesterday. I don't want one stupid word to change who I am to them." She murmured, and suddenly the three seemed to understand. Their faces grew stoic and they knew just how important it was to her to make the people before her understand. 

"Then tell them that— "To her surprise, it was Jared who finally allowed her to drown her feelings, his jaw locked, and his gaze hard as he rolled his shoulders— "Treat it as though it were any other acting job. Tell them what they need to know and leave no room for details."

And suddenly she understood. It came rushing back to her then, that realization that cancer never affected just the person who had it. It was going to affect so much more than just her. It was going to tear people apart. How was she supposed to do that to the people she loved? How was she supposed to break their hearts?

But she knew that was what she needed to do. It wasn't fair to hurt them, but it was even worse to leave them blind; to let them sit and live happily, and never know that she was anything other than okay.

So she took a deep breath and she stepped forward. Voices died away and gazes slowly locked on her as she looked around the room, and forced herself to meet them with confidence. 

"Everything anyone told you about where I've been for the past two weeks is a lie—" Confused and curious murmurs echoed along the crowd like a wave, and she gave them a moment to die away before she continued, swallowing hard to fight the rising lump in her throat— "I'm about to tell you all something. Something big, and most of you probably aren't gonna like what you're going to hear, but you're not going to say a word until after. I'm going to tell you what you need to know, and then I'm gonna go to my trailer for thirty minutes, during which time you will take this new information and do with it what you please. You can yell, or cry, or scream, or do whatever you want to do, but you will not involve me. I don't want, nor do I need pity. After the thirty minutes is up, I will go do hair and makeup, and we will begin filming as though it were any other Monday. Is that clear?"

With both equal amounts fear and curiosity, the cast and crew gave scattered nods, a few even intimidated enough to utter small 'yes ma'ams' as she cleared her throat. 

She puffed out her chest and squared her shoulders. "Alright, here goes. Ladies and gents, I have—" Against her will she faltered, even if slightly, and she silently cursed herself before giving the smallest shakes of her head and pressing on— "I have cancer."

She gave herself time to listen to the gasps of surprise and exclamations of horror that echoed instantaneously around the room, and it was though she had given a wordless command as they all fell silent and allowed her to finish.

"Consider my offer. Your thirty minutes begins now." And with that she spun on her heel and she walked away, hundreds of eyes following her as she disappeared at the door. 

Soon, questioning gaze were shot at Jensen, Jared, and Misha, and curious minds wondered why the three weren't crying or in some way emotionally drained, but Jensen spoke up before the first person even dared to ask. 

"She said that it's going to be like any other day—" Jensen noticed the looks, and he and his best friends took them in stoically— "and if that's what she wants, then that's what she is going to get. You all know better than to disobey her, especially at a time like this."

Of course those three had already heard the news. They were probably the first people she called. 

A few people nodded their acknowledgment of Jensen's warning. They'd all had firsthand experience with the teen's anger, and they knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she was much too prideful to let anyone show her any sympathy. 

"You still have twenty-eight minutes," Misha spoke up, crossing his arms, "I suggest you go and shed the tears I can see on most of your faces before she comes back, and when she does come back, I hope you all are ready to work."

—

She watched as the clock on her trailer wall slowly ticked down the minutes before she could go back out there, and face the sure mess that she had abruptly left behind. She kept clenching her fists; watching as her knuckles turned white before releasing the pressure, and doing it over again a moment later. 

When sitting became too much, she got up and slowly started to pace the length of her trailer; something she had seen Jensen do time and time again when he got overly stressed. 

It's going to be okay, She thought to herself, It might not be okay now, but everything is still so fresh. After the initial shock wears off, then everything will go back to as normal as it can be. You know things are going to change, there is nothing you can do about that, and there's always going to be subtle changes that your just going to have to get used to. 

The trick is not to let it change you. 

It doesn't matter what other people think, or do; all that matters is that you stay true to yourself. 

You can do this.

Misha came to make sure she was okay, even though he knew she would be. She would have had a little pep talk with herself, and worked through whatever doubts that were plaguing her mind. It was the way she worked. 

"Hey Misha." She let him put his hands on her shoulders, and lead the way back towards the sets. 

"Are you ready to get back to work?" For some reason she felt surprised; she looked up past her shoulder, right into her best friend's eyes, and wondered why. Like he would let anything happen to her. 

"You really are an angel, you know that?" Misha looked down and scooped her up into his arms. 

"For you? Yes. Otherwise, I just play one on TV." 

—

She tried to ignore it. 

She tried to block out the obvious stare from the stuntman that was up to 'fight' her in the next scene, but it was hard to block out. 

He kept glancing at her in what seemed to be fear. 

She understood, she did, but he never once before looked at her in the way he was then, and she just had to remind herself that they could stare at her as much as they wanted as long as she didn't change.

As long as she didn't let it affect her the way it was affecting him.

So she faced the trepidation head on, wiped their stares away with a flick of her wrist, and got on her mark. It took a minute for the stuntman to follow suit, but he soon realized that it didn't matter how long he stared at her. It wouldn't change anything. He would still have to fight her, so he did. 

And it was like nothing had changed, because nothing really had. He just let the one thing she didn't want to happen, happen, and he was honestly ashamed of himself. 

She was doing the best she could. 

Trying to look at the glass as half full, but the more she tried, the more she began to realize that there was a tiny hole, methodically dripping out into a long plastic tube, and with waning hope did her eyes follow the twisted trail of that tube, only for her to find herself staring at her own image, connected to the end of it like some sort of robot; like some sort of toy. 

When he threw his punch, she could practically see how much stress he had put into softening it. She could watch it come for her all but in slow motion, and as it did, a red haze clouded up the edge of her vision and seeped threateningly inward. Her brows furrowed and suddenly fighting back didn't feel fake as she reached and snatched his fist out of the air, as she been choreographed to do, but then broke character, tossing his fist to his side and sending a flurry of quick jabs at his face, ignoring her boys and the crew yelling for her to cut as the stuntman struggled to block her hits, barely managing to knock her hand away each time as he stumbled backward. 

Finally she dropped, spinning one leg out and knocking the stuntman's feet from beneath him, standing over his form with a heaving chest and a beet red face as he stared up at her. 

"If you fight me as though I am fragile, you are the only one who will end up broken!" She snarled, her bloody haze blocking out the fear in the stuntman's eyes, "This illness does not give you the means to forget who I am or what I can do. So stand up, and hit me again."

He did as he was told, and nobody in the surrounding crew had the courage to scold her as they returned to their marks and raised their fists a second time. Only when his hand fly to her with all the strength as though it were flying to a savage beast did the red haze slowly spill away from her vision. 

And yet even after they called cut, nobody was able to find the means to address her chaotic nature. 

They were simply too afraid. 

—

Something was wrong. Something was different. She felt it the moment she walked on set. And as much as she wished to deny it, she knew that difference had something to do with her. 

When Misha came to her and told her that Kripke wanted to speak with her, she almost wanted to ignore them both and continue to film, but she knew that Kripke could and would bring all production to a halt if she tried to avoid him. Sighing, she followed Misha as he led her into the director's room, where Kripke, Jared, Jensen, Clif, and a few crew members waited. 

"Y/n, we need to talk." Kripke motioned for her to sit down, but she simply stood, crossing her arms. Kripke stared a moment before realizing she had no intention of accepting his offer. He allowed his arm to drop, rubbing his palms on his pants as though he were nervous. 

She tilted her head to the side, her entire posture reading defensive and closed off, much to the obvious disapproval of her costars. "What's wrong, Kripke?" Her voice was so blunt it didn't even sound like a question. 

Kripke cleared his throat, leaving no room for hesitation as he released a sharp exhale of breath. It was the kind he always told Jensen and Jared to use when filming; the kind that told her what he meant to say was not something she'd enjoy hearing. 

"You can't do your own stunts anymore."

She nearly reeled in surprise, raising her brows. "What? Why not?"

"Because we're worried that your-- condition-- may alter your ability to perform these stunts. We don't want you to get hurt." Kripke explained in a comforting voice, but he should've known better than to sweet-talk her. 

"What about 'not treating me any different?' What happened to that?" She retorted sharply, brows knitting into a line as she stared him down. 

Kripke allowed anger to seep into his tone against his will. "Y/n, you need to understand that now is no longer the time for you to push away the people who care about you! Your stubborn pride is what's going to get you killed!"

Where he expected shock, or maybe even tears, he was met with an angry chuckle as she slowly turned and walked away, her voice rounding over her shoulder as she swung the door open aggressively. "Kripke, my stubborn pride is the only thing I've got left."

Ignoring Kripke's irritated protests, she slammed the door behind her and suddenly the room was an eerie sort of silent. 

"God damn that girl," Kripke muttered to himself as he prepared to go after her, "Too stupid to see that the things I do, I do for her."

Jensen put his hand on Kripke's shoulder before the older man could open the door, and Kripke was already surrendering before Jensen even finished his sentence. "Let me and Jared talk to her, Eric. We can make her understand."

"You're probably right--" Eric heaved a long sigh as he walked with slumped shoulders back toward his chair-- "Make sure she knows that I never meant to hurt her."

"I'm sure she knows already." Jared said over his shoulder as he followed Jensen out the door. 

The two males looked around the set, quickly receiving a trail of pointed fingers from crew members who'd witnessed the rage-filled teen storming the premises, and upon finding her trailer door locked-- a rare phenomenon that only occurred once in a blue moon-- they knew she must be inside. 

Jared rapped his knuckles against the door, his forehead brushing the weathered plastic frame as he listened to the sounds of shuffling from inside. He and Jensen heard the lock click, but the door did not open, and he was left to quietly turn the knob, exchanging a glance with the older man beside him before he pushed the door in and walked inside. 

And there she sat, staring at the wall before her so hard Jensen expected it to burst into flame at any given moment. She didn't acknowledge the men as they came in, even after they'd sat themselves on either side of her and silently touched her shoulder and knee. 

"Talk to us, babe." Jared's voice was quiet, his command gentle and in no way force. Both men prepared themselves for some sort of onslaught, be it yelling or wild tears or even physical assault from a broken girl, but when she spoke, her voice was tranquil; wavering. 

"You don't understand—" Barely above a whisper, her voice barely breaking the silence, easily ripping into the hearts of the men who loved her as though they were nothing but paper— "You don't know what it feels like to sit for hours on end and be pumped so full of poisons you can barely think straight. You don't know what it feels like to have everyone look at you like there's something wrong— like, like your just this broken little thing that needs their pity. You don't know what it feels like to suffocate in that plain white room— to sit by and watch the people you love swimming around you while all you can do is drown."

She sucked in a deep breath and her voice grew even lower as tears rolled down Jensen and Jared's cheeks. "This is all that I have. Being a Winchester was supposed to be the one thing that this stupid condition couldn't touch. It was supposed to be the one thing it couldn't take away from me. But now I'm just supposed to watch someone else be me. I'm supposed to watch someone else do my job, because as if ruining my home life wasn't enough, this stupid tumor has to ruin my work life, too." 

She looked towards the men at her sides, and they could clearly see her shrink back into herself, the fiery temper she once held dissipating like steam into the air. "I didn't mean to yell at Kripke the way I did, I just— just snapped when he said I couldn't do my own stunts anymore. I am perfectly capable of doing my job, I've only had one chemo session. I haven't even lost my hair yet. Sure, once I start feeling really bad, and we start to get farther into the cycle, then things won't be able to continue. But not yet, don't take it away yet. Please. It's too soon, guys." Jared pulled her into his arms once he saw her getting frantic, trying to stop her before she had an anxiety attack. 

Both men sat with her cradled in their arms, not saying anything for awhile so she could compose herself. 

"I'm not dead yet." Jared inhaled through his nose sharply and pushed her head away so he could see her face. A single tear trekked it's way down her cheek and off into his shirt below. 

"Of course you aren't dead, (Y/N), and you won't be, not until you're old and gray. I don't want to hear you say things like that. Everyone is just worried about you, and we want to see you get better. We know how stubborn you are, and how you like to push yourself past your limits, but you can't do that now. Your body isn't what it used to be, okay? I know you don't want to, but you have to accommodate for the changes that are happening to you."

He sighed. "We aren't saying that you can't act anymore. We aren't saying that you can't be a Winchester anymore. No one is saying that, just no more fight scenes. That's all we're asking."

"I love my job. I don't mean to be difficult, I promise." Her voice was so innocent, and suddenly images of a young girl with vibrant eyes were flashing through both Jensen and Jared's heads, memories of when she was so young and energetic. Jensen slowly ran his hand through her hair, smoothing out the tangles and watching it seperate as it fell down onto her shoulder. 

"You aren't being difficult, sweetheart, you're just scared with all the changes that are happening. If it was me or Jared, we'd feel the same. No one blames you for acting this way, but I'd like you to just try and see it from our point of view. He and I, we can't— we won't watch you get you hurt." Jensen's murmured softly, continuing to card his fingers through her hair, and he silently cursed himself for wondering if there would come a day when he wouldn't be able to anymore. 

She found it shocking how easy it was to imagine Jared, Jensen and Misha getting hurt, and realized what they were going through when a pang went through her heart. She buried her head into the crook of Jared's neck, and let out a deep sigh. 

"Okay." She whispered out, and Jensen had to lean in to hear what she said. 

"Okay?" He echoed, wanting to confirm what he was hearing.

"I won't do fight scenes anymore, but I still get to act, right? I'm still H/n Winchester?" 

"Yes, babe. Trust me, that's something no one ever gets to take away from you." 

—

Three weeks passed, and she had finished another session of chemo. She could feel the effect that it had on her body, killing the thing that was killing her, but at the same killing what was keeping her alive. There were times when she wondered who was supposed to be the good guy. 

Some days she could push through the pain, letting it sit briefly in her mind before passing on. It was the only way she could get through her scenes without breaking down. The last thing she wanted to do was worry anybody, but she knew she was also worrying them by not saying anything. 

She wasn't going to be able to hide it for long, no matter how much she might want to. 

When she woke up, early that morning, and saw the hair that laced her pillow, she wanted to believe that maybe she simply had bedhead. That maybe her locks had simply draped themselves over the fabric during the night, but she knew better. She slowly sat up, her eyes never leaving the pile on her pillow. She forced herself from her bed, and inched slowly towards the mirror. 

She tried to prepare herself for what she knew she was going to see, but no image she could conjure could come close to the real thing. 

It wasn't just one lonely spot that was barren of hair, it was a sporadically patched work throughout her head, impossible to cover up. She looked at the clock above her bed, and realized with a sinking stomach that both her parents had already left for work, leaving her no one to go to. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and letting the tears soak into the fabric of her sweatpants. 

She knew it was coming, it was bound to happen sooner rather than later, and she couldn't understand why it was hitting her as hard as it was. She told herself every night after the first chemo session that one day she would wake up in the morning with no hair, that it was going to happen and she was going to continue on like it was any other day. 

And yet against her will, the tears fell. 

Why?

Because now everyone would know what she had tried so hard to hide. 

Now everyone would know just how bad she was doing. She could no longer hide it behind a carefully placed smile, and suddenly she felt so exposed to the world.

She cried because now she knew that there was no going back. 

She subconsciously ran her hand through what hair she had left, and let out a wrecked sob when her hand came back full of the soft locks and a new bald spot found a home atop her scalp. 

She sat for an hour, her tears never ceasing, before it became too much for her to bare on her own. 

She debated on calling Jensen, Jared, or both, but then realized that the person that she really wanted to see, the person who she knew would make everything just a little bit better, was Misha. 

So she dialed his number with shaking fingers, and pressed her phone up to her ear, allowing her head to fall upon her knees. 

"Hello?" Misha's voice sounded throughout her bedroom, echoing through her head, and resting into her ears. "(Y/N)?" 

"M-Misha?" She shook her head, ashamed that she couldn't keep herself together. 

"What's wrong, (Y/N?)" His voice became urgent. 

"It's all fall-falling out, Misha," She cried, putting her free hand over her head, and roughly rubbing over the naked spots. "It's all falling out, and I knew this was coming, but I just—" Her voice raised, and she scared herself at how high it rose— "I don't know what to do!" 

"Are you at home? Where are your parents?" Misha asked, telling his wife what was going on briefly and leaving his house, nearly sprinting down the driveway to his car. 

"They already left for work. I just woke up and— and—" 

"Hey, it's okay sweetheart. It's okay. I'm heading over right now, and we will figure this out, okay?" He listened to her labored breathing with hands clenched around the steering wheel, trying to will his car to go faster with each increase in his white-knuckled grip. 

"I'm sorry, Misha." She whispered out, her voice muffled by the effort of trying not to break down again. 

"Don't you dare apologize, don't you dare, not to me. You could have tried to prepare yourself for this (Y/N), and I know you did, but there is nothing your mind could have come up with that would do a justice to the real thing. You just have to remember that no matter how much your body changes, or how different you may look, you will always be the same girl that everyone fell in love with years ago. The same girl that I fell in love with years ago." Misha waited for a response, anything to reassure him that she had heard his words, but all he could hear was labored breath that she released in repeated intervals. "(Y/N)?" There was a pause at the other end before her stuttering breath hit his ears. 

"I— God—" He could easily imagine her shaking her head, trying to force the words out of her that seemed to be stuck behind some invisible barrier within her— "I love you so— so much, Mish." She choked out, leaving Misha scratching at his warm cheeks, trying to clear away the tears that filmed instantaneously over his eyes. 

"I love you too (Y/N), more than the world. You have to believe me when I say that everything is going to be okay. I won't let you go through anything alone, even if all you want to do is be alone." Misha turned down on to her street, and pulled into her vacant driveway. "I'm right outside your house. I'm going to let myself in, okay?" 

"Okay, thank you, Mish." Misha hung up the phone, shoving it in his pocket while simultaneously punching in the access code with shaking fingers. He made his way upstairs, following the path that was burned into his brain, but this time he couldn't help the hesitation that seeped into his steps. 

It was just like he told her, there was nothing he could do to prepare him for what he was to see. Now, there was no shying away from the fact that she was sick. At least before he could still see the gleam of the healthy girl he knew, and he worried he wouldn't be able to look at her the same. 

He was almost at her door when a thought struck him square in the chest, knocking him back on his heels, and he had to lean against the wall to keep from completely falling.

If he was this afraid at what he was going to see, if he felt this uncertainty for the future, then how was she feeling? This was happening to her body, and he was just the innocent bystander watching on the sidelines as a building came crashing down on top of her, little by little. Today it was the top floor, crumbling to the concrete with a deafening crack, and tomorrow he could come back and all the windows could be ripped from there frames, laying shattered and forgot on the ground. 

He blinked the thought to the back of his mind, tapping his face roughly to bring his attention back to what really mattered. 

Today was all that mattered, and soon today would become yesterday, and he would have a new set of problems to fret about. That's all he could do, if he hung on to every little thing, attaching them to his skin like a baggy sweater, then he would surely drown in his own anxiety. 

He knocked on her door, waiting for her soft voice to grant him entrance before he stepped through the threshold. 

He found her in a large black sweatshirt, the hood pulled up all the way over her head, and covering most of her face. He took a moment to look around her bedroom, pausing his panoramic view on the pile of hair that made a nest on her pillow. He pulled his attention away from her bed, instead focusing on the black mass that she made on the floor. He took a seat next to her, slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer and into his waiting lap. 

"It's okay, sweetheart." Her sniffles filled the stilled air, telling him how hard she was trying to not break down. "It's okay to cry, you know. All crying is is the release of excess chemicals. It's your body's way of trying to bring balance back to your emotions. The longer you hold it in, the harder it's going to hit you later." 

She let out a choked sob, quickly burying her head into the crook of Misha's neck, but still not lifting the hood that rested over her head. 

"I hate the way I look." She cried, "I don't want to, but God, Misha. I hate it."

"Well—" he pulled her closer, lowering his head down to her face, and letting a smile break through the tension— "You know what they say, 'things must get worse before they can get better'. It might not look good now, everything is too fresh to look good in your eyes, but why don't we get one step ahead of this thing, and take the situation into our own hands?" She looked up at him for the first time.

"What do you mean?" He slowly got up, releasing her for a moment before taking her hand to help her up as well. 

"I mean, lets get it all over with. There's no point in waiting, that will just cause you more stress then what you need to put yourself through." He paused for a minute, watching as realization crossed her features. 

"You want me to shave it all off?" 

"Only if you want to." He kept a firm hold on her hands, trying to will some his strength down his arms and into her. She slowly released herself from his grasp and walked towards her mirror. 

"It's almost all gone anyways." She hesitated, trying to will her hands to grab a hold of the fabric that was keeping her fears hidden, but she just couldn't seem to do it. Misha slowly walked up behind her, not making any advancements to remove her hood, but to try to reassure her. 

"You have no reason to hide from me, but if you want me to step out and let you do this by yourself, I completely understand." A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of Misha leaving her to do this on her own; even if he was just going downstairs. 

"No, please don't go; I don't think I can do this by myself." 

"Then I'm not going anywhere." Misha watched as she slowly pushed her hoodie down over her shoulders, and couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips. "There's nothing in the world that could make you anything other than beautiful in my eyes, sweetheart." 

And that was the encouragement she needed, letting his words combat her fears everytime she got scared of what someone might think. 

"Thank you, Misha. For everything." 

He took her hand and led her into her bathroom, pulling an electric razor from her drawer and plugging it in. 

She lifted the razor to her head and let it hover over the patch of hair that would soon be in a pile at her feet. She let the razor touch her scalp before moving across her head, and back down towards her side. The vibrations tickled her scalp, and she couldn't help but laugh at the weird sensation. 

"I've never used an electric razor before. Is this what it feels like every time you get a haircut?" Misha was standing behind her, helping her reach the spots she couldn't see. 

"More or less, I've never gone bald before, but I'm thinking about doing it for the summer." She could see him eyeing the razor out of the corner of her eyes, and made a quick grab for it before he got any ideas. 

"No way! No, Misha, Vicki would kill you!—" Misha only gave her a shit-eating grin before snatching the razor from her hands, and turning it on— "Misha!" She yelled out, trying to grab it before he could lower it to his head, but their height differences were too great, and the sharp zipping sound that filled the air quieted her protests, and left her staring at the bald streak that now ran through the middle of his hair, absolute horror written on her face as her mouth fell open. "Oh my God. I can't believe you just did that." 

The longer she stared, the harder it became to keep a straight face, and she found herself clutching her stomach. Her laughter blended in with his, morphing together into one big, indistinguishable noise. They stood that way for a couple of minutes, each thinking they finally caught their breath, but then they would look into the mirror and start all over again. 

"Well, there's no going back now." Misha laughed as he ran a hand through what little hair he had left. 

"I can't believe you. You're insane, you know that?—" She took the razor from his hands and stood up on the toilet behind him— "but I can't let you leave looking like that, Vicki would really kill you then, and maybe me." She slowly shaved off the rest of his hair, having him turn in multiple directions to make sure she got all of it. "The boys are going to give you so much shit for this." 

"You know they are going to want to do it too. Can you imagine Jared with no hair?" Misha laughed at the thought, but all she could do was stare straight ahead in horror. 

"No, no, no! I'm drawing the line here and now. No one else is shaving their heads. I won't allow it!" 

"It's just hair, sweetheart. It'll grow back." Misha absentmindedly rubbed his scalp while watching her in the mirror, but he replayed what he said when a frown slowly covered the smile she held so brightly moments ago. "Your hair will grow back (Y/N), once you get done with chemo, it's all going to grow back." 

"I know, that just seems like such a long time away." She hopped down from her perch on the toilet seat, and exited the bathroom to go into the kitchen. 

"And we all will be there with you, every step of the way." Misha wanted to change the topic before it got too heavy, "Why don't you come to dinner with us tonight? We were planning on going to an Italian restaurant not too far from my house, and we would love for you to come." She thought back to her parents, and realized tonight was their date night, so she agreed to go so she wasn't alone. 

"I would love to, thanks for inviting me." 

They both decided to clean up the mess they made in the bathroom, before agreeing to just spend the whole day at Misha's house before dinner. He waited downstairs while she got dressed and ready to go over. She wore a simple light sweater and some jeans, as it was still a bit breezy out, and threw a beanie over her bare head. She grabbed one for Misha as well before heading down stairs. 

"Here, put this on." She handed him the beanie, watching as he slipped it over his head and adjusted it to fit right. "Everyone is going to freak."

— 

"Hey, Vicki." She said as soon as the front door opened, she was wringing her hands back and forth, trying to calm the nerves that wouldn't settle. 

"What did you do?" She knew her husband, and if there was a chance that he could get into trouble, then he was going to take it. All Misha did was smile, waiting for the truth to slowly unveil it self. 

"I tried to stop him." She lowered her head to avoid the reaction, but she was pretty sure what was going to unfold. 

"What are you talking abou—" a sudden gasp escaped her lips, and her hand flew up to cover the smile that was inching its way onto her face— "Oh my God." She looked up to see Vicki's wide eyes, but what she couldn't see was the just as wide smile being covered by her hand. 

"She did it too." She suddenly looked over at Misha, smacking him in the arm. 

"Because I had to do it, you didn't!" She exclaimed, about to apologize to his wife again, but she burst out laughing before she could. 

"Oh my God, this is so great." She ran a hand over her husband's bare head, and cracked up laughing once more. 

"What? You're not mad?" She couldn't comprehend what was going on, but she should have known Vicki was going to react this way. 

This was the same couple that renewed their vows— in drag— at a supermarket. 

"Of course I'm not mad honey, he did this for you; how could I be mad at that?" She walked over to her and slowly lifted her hands towards the beanie that still rested onto her head, and with a quick nod of permission, removed it. "You still look beautiful as ever." She wrapped her arms around the smaller girl's frame, and let her nest between her arms. They stayed that way for a while before the sound of thudding footsteps reached their ears, and they were forced to seperate. 

"Is (N/N) here!?" West's distinct voice filled the room, followed closely by his sister's squeals of excitement. She walked over to the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them to run down and greet her, but they stopped halfway. West's eyes slowly traveled up to her head, letting them linger over where her hair used to be, before looking over at his father. As soon as their minds processed what was displayed before them their smiles had returned as big and bright as ever, and it was like neither father nor favorite person was any different at all. 

"Y/n, Y/n, Y/n! Are you here to play with us? Please tell me you're here to play with us!" Maison bounded the rest of the way down the stairs and leaped into her arms, barely giving her time to catch her as she pressed a multitude of slobbery kisses to her cheeks. 

She chuckled, wiping away her drool, but Misha responded before she even could. "Actually, Mais, everyone's coming over—" She cast Misha a questioning side eyed glance and he smiled mischievously— "we've got to show everyone mine and Y/n's new hairdo."

"Wait," Her eyes widened and her voice fluttered upward an octave, "Jensen and Jared are gonna see this? My parents are gonna see this?"

Misha stared at her intently, drawing his words out. "Yeah. Is that a problem?"

She shook her head, gulping and struggling to wet her suddenly dry mouth, Maison suddenly feeling much heavier in her hands. "No. I just thought I'd have a bit more time before everyone else found out."

"Oh," Misha murmured, before giving a toothy grin, "Nope!"

She rolled her eyes. "You're the worst. I'm gonna steal your kids and we're gonna walk down the block to get ice cream and then go to the park and I'm gonna stay gone until everyone comes because I'm terrified alright? Goodbye." Without waiting for Misha to respond, she scooped up West in her free hand and skipped cheerfully out the door, leaving Vicki and Misha to laugh lightly and close it behind her.

As soon as it shut, Vicki's voice lost its levity and took on an unwaning warmth. She smiled softly and once more ran her hand across Misha's head as he wrapped an arm around her. "I'm really proud of you, Mish. I really don't think you know how much Y/n loves you for this."

Misha kissed his wife and mirrored her smile. "Of course I do, hon. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her."

"C'mon," Vicki took his hand and led him toward the kitchen, "I say we make all of Y/n's favorites."

"And I say that's a good idea."

—

"Alright, everyone, can we have your attention?" She clinked a fork against her cup as Misha— the two of them clad in beanies and still hairy-headed in the minds of their unsuspecting friends— came to stand beside her, "Misha and I have a bit of a surprise for you guys."

Jensen and Jared's eyebrows both raised in questioning— for they knew of her and Misha's mischievous nature— as a few wondering murmurs passed through the party members. Misha cleared his throat and chuckled, absentmindedly scratching at his wrist, and it was then that she saw his own nervousness beginning to pull at him. "So, we'll admit, this kind of happened on a whim and we hope it doesn't affect anything with filming but—" He glanced at her, reaching toward his hat, and she did the same. They simultaneously ripped off their hats and people were cheering loudly before he could even finish his sentence— "We're going bald!"

Jensen and Jared were quick to shoot forward and snatch the two of them up in hugs, yelling in surprise with wide smiles. They backed away and Jensen could not help but to touch her soft scalp gently, as though he feared he'd break it. "So when do I get to shave mine?"

"No—" She responded instantly— "The only reason Mish looks like this is because he literally fought the razor from my hands. Nobody else is shaving their beautiful, soft, perfect hair for me, especially Jared, otherwise I won't have anything to pet during cuddle seshs anymore."

Jensen and Jared laughed and both kissed her once more before dragging Misha away to make fun of him. Her parents took their places, each looking upon her with eyes brimming with tears. Her mother— bottom lip puffed out like a cliff— took her daughter's chin in her hand and kissed her face. "I'm so proud of you, Y/n. You look so beautiful and you were so strong to do something like this. I'm sorry you have to be so grown up so soon."

She quickly hugged her mother, her eyes burning and her forehead pounding with tears she struggled to hold back. "It's okay, mom. I'll always be a kid. Nothing gets to take that away from me. Not even old age."

She managed to coax a breathy laugh from her mother as her father hugged her too, and as soon as they walked away, people from all over the room were coming to tell her she looked beautiful and pretty and every kind word she could think of. 

Her heart seemed to swell, in that moment, and, even if briefly, she was able to forget about everything and let the atmosphere of the room wash over her, and it was as it cupped her body and encased her that for an instant so short it felt surreal, the buzz of her life died away, and all she heard was the gentle harmonies of the music that seem to shift its way through the silence from the back of the room and touch her with an intimacy she knew one day she'd come to miss. She felt within her a tranquility she had long since forgotten to know, and that which had burned within her body in the form of a godly rage was slowly blown away. 

And for a moment, she wasn't scared. 

For a moment, she felt she would live. 

—

But her moment did not last. 

A few months went by, during which time Misha's hair had grown back and Tom had turned another year older and she had grown accustomed to the chemotherapy of which her family and her boys still forced her to allow them to attend. The world still spun. 

But in those few months, her condition had worsened. She'd been permanently hospitalized and filming was put on hold. Everyone who had ever had anything to do with the girl in the plain white room had— at some point in her journey— waited just beyond the door to see her; to thank her. For everyone who had ever known her had always fallen in love, all because it was so easy to. 

Jared fell in love with her smile. Jensen fell in love with her laugh. Misha fell in love with her kind eyes and they all fell in love with her boisterous heart. 

As the days bled on, seeping from the cracks of tomorrow and rolling across her face only to squeeze their way into the long forgotten shadows of yesterday, she began to neglect her right to allow her family to see her. She made excuses to get them to go away. She didn't want to be seen. 

Not like this. 

Pale skin, pale lips, pale eyes, she was so pale. She had lost her light, and only those who were colorblind saw her in the way she saw herself.

She was a static image of black and white. 

And by the time her fourth month had rolled around, there were days when she wondered what she was holding on for. 

It was as she was sitting in her bed, alone for the sixth hour since she had awoken, that she realized what she was holding onto. And she realized, that she needed to let it go. 

And so she did. She took her laptop and she opened it and she turned to that small, so small, insignificant camera, and she saw herself on that screen, and she talked until she was blue in the face and she was short of breath and the tears had all but cut bleeding trails down her cheeks. 

She did this for days, up until she knew it was time for her to stop. It was time for the final one. 

She took a deep breath, her hand hesitating as her finger wriggled beneath her laptop cover. Her hospital room was empty, she had made sure of it, and she knew none of her doctors or nurses would be back before she could finish what she wanted, needed, to do. 

It wasn't the first time she'd done it, she knew, but there was something about opening her laptop cover and clicking on the camera; something about seeing her face appear on the screen and watching the mouse as it hovered over the record button. She knew what that something was, deep within her. She knew what she didn't want to know. 

And so she clicked that record button and she talked. She talked until her throat itched something fierce. She talked, and she laughed, and she smiled, and she cried. 

She said goodbye. 

The doctor didn't return until long after she'd quietly closed her computer and dried her face. She returned and she handed her the small flash drive that held her voice. That small flash drive that held the rest of the person she used to be. 

A look entered her eye. "Dr. Wagner, you can't let anyone see these unless I—" and she hesitated. She couldn't find it in her to speak that stupid word, even after she cleared her throat and tried again— "unless I—"

"I understand." The doctor heard the plea she couldn't bring herself to make, and with a warm smile she pulled that drive from her hands like it was made of glass and slipped it into her pocket. 

She soon found that she was able to smile back. "Thank you."

—

She died on a Thursday. 

It was sunny. 

Late afternoon. 

And yet, getting the call was the deepest, darkest, blackest thing any of those three boys had ever known. 

The days leading up, she had permanently locked her room. She allowed no one in but her doctors, and asked them to take her off the chemotherapy. They advised against it; tried to tell her that she still had a chance, but she knew better. She left her family to fend for themselves by whatever means they could, and they constantly worried and they constantly tried to get into that plain white room so they could swim with her, but it was as though she were determined to drown on her own. They had not any idea of her condition, of whether it had worsened or bettered, of how she was feeling, anything. They could only sit and hope and pray. 

But when they got their calls, their worlds ceased to spin. 

They kept the funeral brief, for she had mentioned previous to her self-anointed alienation that she did not want people to watch her be lowered into the ground to rot. She did not want to be packed into a jar and stuck on a shelf to gather dust. 

She wanted to become ash. She wanted to float away on a lonesome river. And although it hurt to watch her be sprinkled across the surface of the river; although it hurt to watch her drift downstream amongst the pebbles and the fish and the leaves, who were they to try and disrespect what she wanted? 

Soft music was played. 

The night hung low over the dreary sky, the edges of the forest creeping in with a darkness kept only at bay by the small, candle-lit paper lanterns she'd asked to be released alongside her ashes. And so they did, and gentle orange rays were replaced with the harshness of white flashlights as the lanterns took to the sky and fell away from the wet, red faces of those who loved her. 

And it was as though they knew where to go, those lanterns, and they followed her downstream and they stayed close to the water. Those lights flickered and fluttered and within the whispering shadows, all the people who had fallen in love with her stood by with watery gazes and watched her dance away. They saw her for the last time. 

Few words were spoken on behalf her memory, and this time it wasn't so much that she had wanted a silence, rather more of no one having a single thing they could think of to say that would fill it. 

For she was every word that didn't exist. 

She was every color their eyes couldn't detect. 

Every image their brain could not perceive. 

She was, in and of it all, everything that was and everything that wasn't.

How were they supposed to let something like that go?

—

When Jared quietly clicked on the last video, it wasn't until after her face popped onto the screen that the trio realized that there'd been a significant gap between the fourth and final ones. And although they thought they run out of tears to cry, watching the first videos, the three of them started up once more when they saw her.

She looked so immensely different than she had before, and the three men all wondered how they had never noticed the change. Maybe it was because, through it all, she never stopped smiling, even when they did. Her pale skin, her white lips and shadowed eyes, nothing managed to stop her smile. 

But that was before she began to speak. 

She cleared her throat, a ghost of a grin on her face. "Hi, everyone. I'm sure by this point, you're used to the videos. But, before you get settled with your popcorn, I'd like to break the news to you."

She sniffed. "This is my season finale. The last one. Because, as much as I hate to admit it—" There was a long pause, her eyes wetting, and her voice cracked when she finally spoke again—" I'm going to die."

Jensen, Jared, and Misha's face each contorted into anguished sobs as she gave a half-hearted chuckle, looking down. "I can feel it. I can feel the hand, hovering in the air just over my shoulder. Everyday it sneaks just a little closer, and today, I think it finally laid its first finger on my shirt."

She sucked in a long, shaky breath, a sob cutting through her words as the first tear broke from her eyelid. "And I'm terrified. It feels so strange. Being on Supernatural, I've always known that the end was never truly the end, you know?"

She chuckled. "But this is real life, and here we don't get second chances. All I can do is believe that if I'm leaving, it's because I'm supposed to. It's because it's what I'm meant to do. But that doesn't mean I'm not afraid. For a long time I complained, I complained about everything. The pain, the chemo, my hair, all of it. I once told someone that Earth was like Hell. And, I was wrong. But I guess the reason anyone's ever said that Earth was like Hell was because of the twisted expectation that it was supposed to be like Heaven."

"I've put on my best face for you all. I've tried my best to stay positive through everything; to stay strong for the sake of you all. And I'm sorry that I couldn't last— I don't know— just a little bit longer. But if I'm being honest, I'm tired. And I'm not sure what it is I'm lasting for." 

"But I'm going to die. There's nothing I can do about it, or you can do about it. And when the day comes, I don't think I'll truly be afraid. I think I'll be at peace. Growing up in the environment I was in, I was quick to learn that death wasn't something to fear. But that was before I had firsthand experience with it."

She went quiet a moment, another tear rolling down her cheek. She seemed to realize what she'd been doing and quickly wiped at her eyes, chuckling as she looked briefly to the camera. "Sorry, I wasn't really planning on crying. But I need to you to understand that I'm saying goodbye."

"Don't worry about me, please. Sure, I'm going away, but just because you can't see me, doesn't mean I won't be here. If ever you're in tears, just think of me and I'll be the one to wipe them away. If ever you need a hug, just think of me and I'll hold you so tight, maybe you'll be able to feel it. If ever you're happy, laugh, and hear me laugh alongside you. As if I haven't said it enough throughout my life, I'll say it one more time. You are not alone. I'm not alone. We're not alone."

"Jensen, Jared, Misha—" She began to cry once more as she looked away from the camera— "I love you boys. So, so much more than you know. And you know, I'm glad I got to grow up beside you three, and learn and discover with you by my side. Jensen and Jared, you're the best big brothers I could ever dream of, and Misha, you're an angel in my eyes offscreen just as much as on. You three are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm sorry to go. I'm sorry that I have to leave and I'm sorry to let you all down."

There was another, long pause, and suddenly she looked smaller than any of the three had ever seen her as she choked back a sob and tears fell harshly from both cheeks. 

"I don't want to die."

She looked to the camera. 

"Don't forget me, okay?"

She smiled in the colors we can not detect.   
.  
.  
.  
She laughed in the images we can not perceive.   
.  
.  
.  
Everything was gone. 

"Goodbye."


End file.
